Betty went into the pig house, the chicken house and yard, and every outbuilding. No Bob was in sight.
“But he put the bar down—that was our signal,” she said to herself, over and over.
“Don’t fret, dearie. Sit down and eat your supper,” counseled Miss Hope placidly, when she had to report that she could not find him. “He may be real late. I’ll keep a plate hot for him.”
The supper dishes were washed and dried, the table cleared, and a generous portion of biscuits and honey set aside for Bob. Miss Hope put on an old coat and went out with Betty to feed the stock, for it was growing dark and she did not want the boy to have it all to do when he came in tired.
“I’ll do the milking,” said Betty hurriedly. “I’m not much of a milker, but I guess I can manage. Bob hates to milk when it is dark.”
In the girl’s heart a definite fear was growing. Something had happened to Bob! Milking, the thought of the sharpers came to her. Oddly enough they had not been in her mind for several days. The bar! Had they anything to do with the one bar being down?
Neither she nor Bob had ever said a word to his aunts on the subject of the two men in gray, arguing that there was no use in making the old ladies nervous. Now that the full responsibility had devolved upon Betty, she was firmly resolved to say no word concerning the men who had stopped her in the road and asked her questions about Bob.
She finished milking Blossom, and fastened the barn door behind her. Glancing toward the house, she saw Miss Hope come flying toward her, wringing her hands.
“Oh, Betty!” she wailed, “something has happened to Bob! I heard a cow low, and I went out front, and there Daisy stood on the lawn. I’m afraid Bob is lying somewhere with a broken leg!”